She Was Tired
by BokuWaHime
Summary: Sarah loved Jareth. And Jareth loved Sarah. And that was how life was. Mentions/Description of Rape


**I couldn't write, so I went to my fail-safe word, and typed in **_**she was tired**_**.**

**This came out, its not well edited, but I think it's pretty good, I'm sorry I didn't update one of my stories! But more than 2000 words (minus this bold art) is pretty good for two days of writing**

**I don't own the Labyrinth, but I do own a copy of the disk and a whole bunch of "The Other Boleyn Girl" novels (by the same lady, good stuff!), and I am thinking of throwing a costume party.**

**Oh! And to understand the exchange between Sarah and Tenicus, you need to know that it was a common occurrence for courtiers to jokingly declare love for women, for political connections and such.**

**I do not approve or condone rape.**

_They say marriage does many things to a person, within fae society, it is a complicated blood exchange, and your bond is so much more intimate than that of a human hand fastening, different for every person._

_This is what happened to Sarah._

She was tired, but when she saw the sunlight spill through the windows, she gingerly rose from the bed, bones softly creaking in the room.

Sarah was alone.

She dressed herself, the moss green silk of her gown sliding over her skin, covering most of her, with Juliet sleeves and a square neck.

She blinked wearily, yawning slightly as she left her rooms, and a small woman approached her.

"Mistress Sarah," the hobgoblin's sweet blue eyes twinkled at her, "Kep and I will wake the others soon, will you be dining in the Great Hall with Master Jareth?"

"Yes," Sarah said softly, "Thank you, Kip, you may go now, we wouldn't want the King to miss me."

With a small bow, Kip left, and Sarah quickly walked through the different hallways, until she found the familiar doors of the Great Hall.

She gently pressed them open, and seated herself at the head table, beside her husband, her eyes cast out to the meager morning crowd.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she looked at Jareth, and seeing nothing to alarm her, inclined her head to him, with a small smile, her voice tentatively sweet "My Lord."

He gave her a sharp nod, his eyes looking out, like hers did, but she saw them flickering to the door every few minutes, and after she began to eat her food, she found out why.

A large crowd of women entered, merrily chattering away, laughs filling the hall as more and more of the court entered.

One girl, in particular, Paella, tossed her head particularly high, throwing a flirtatious smile to the king, and Sarah looked away, scraping her fork over her plate.

Her lips pressed together, her eyes filling with tears, and Sarah quietly excused herself from the table, the court rising and billowing in a swirl of bows.

As she was leaving the hall, one of the young men approached her, a young man, hardly twenty, Tenicus she recalled, was sitting in the windowsill opposite the door.

"Ah!" he called, his voice light and cheery in the midmorning sun, "My Queen!" Sarah hid her smile in her sleeve, as he swept into a low bow, sweeping his cap off his head, his dark curls springing free.

"Good morrow, Tenicus," she said, amusement apparent, though dulled by fatigue.

"Good morrow, my love!" he cried, the others walking into the Great Hall snickering, "Have you accepted my proposal yet? Will we leave this castle yet?"

Her high, clear, laugh echoed in the hall, "Not today, my little one," she paused, her head tilting with a little smile "have you written any poems as of late, they are wonderful to read."

"No, my sweet," he said, an amused smile hiding behind convincing disappointment, "they are only for you, but I must take my leave now, or your husband will have my hide."

"You and Culpepper's!" another courtier called, and the hall again filled with laughter, and Sarah left the boy behind, seeking her chambers.

Not too far away, before the distant laughter stopped echoing, she walked into a corridor, only to see it occupied by two people already.

There Jareth stood with his wench, Paella, against the wall, her legs wrapped around his slim hips, her dress hitched as he roughly fucked her against the wall, her moans triumphant as she alone of the two saw Sarah. She silently left, the image burned in her mind, as the picture of so many other girls danced behind her eyelids.

For the rest of the day, Sarah took visitors in her rooms, speaking with other courtiers, and reading when she was alone.

She dined alone in her room that night, Kep telling the others she was not feeling well.

She was standing, facing her bookshelves, when the door opened.

In came Jareth, silently seething, as Sarah looked at him with resignation.

"Jareth," she said softly, "I did nothing today."

"Then why have you not left your rooms," he said, his voice with a dangerous edge, one she knew, not an unfamiliar sound to her ears, she knew what was next.

"I am sorry," her head bowed down, "that I have failed as a hostess, husband, I will try harder tomorrow," her hands were trembling over the cover of a book.

His eyes narrowed, trying to see through her lie, by now though Sarah was sure if he knew it was or if he wanted the excuse, "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No," she cried, her voice pleading in the darkening room, the candles flickering and then extinguishing as his magic swept through the room, a cold draft blowing gently and ominous.

He stepped forward, and Sarah stepped back, her back making a small noise as the books brushed her.

His gloves were gone, and a pale hand grasped her arm, too hard, blood beginning to pool and seep through her muscles, pain going through the very bones of her arm, she felt only a dark madness flowing from his hands.

"Please stop," she said, her voice meek and soft, tears filling her eyes like they did so many other nights, knowing from the madness within his touch he wasn't listening.

Instead he growled, "Why is it you seek others," his lips by her ear, "I have promised to be your slave, why is it you turn to those _boys?_" he spat, making her cry out in pain as his hand grasped her other arm, the blood dripping gently through the silk of her gown, ruby against green.

"Never, Jareth," she whimpered, "Never. I would never-"

His hand struck her face, but then he was upon her, his hands roughly ripping off her gown, twisting her so her face was against the shelves.

She was pressed against the shelves, her breasts aching as one was shoved against them, and shreds of her clothing remained on her delicate wrists, the rest of the beautiful sleeves strewn on the ground.

Sarah let out a cry as his manhood thrusted into her, her dry walls creating a delicious friction to him, and a world of pain for her, his pace unrelenting and angry.

His lips bit at her neck, like he did his whores, and she sobbed as he pressed into her again and again, bruises appearing as angry lines across her chest and face.

Sarah did not cry out for mercy, but after his seed filled her, his thrusts became less harsh, slowing, and he stood straight, looking at Sarah.

By now, her face and breasts had angry red and purple lines where the shelves had pressed against her, tears were streaming from her swollen eyes, and as he pulled out, she stumbled to the ground, drawing her knees close to her chest.

She whimpered, closing herself into a ball, her muscles weak and defeated, too tired and too weary to do anything.

Not a second later, he knelt down beside her, gently gathering her in his arms, "Sarah," he said softly, "I didn't mean it."

Her eyes were glazed, with slow flickering within; he gently kissed her lips, feeling them slicked with blood.

Sarah felt cold, and tired, and tried to pull herself away.

The blood was now a cloyingly sweet smell in the room, and Jareth gently lifted her, taking her to the bed, worried at her pale and ashen face.

His hands swept over her bruises and cuts, gliding over her skin and quietly muttering love riddled spells, a golden light ebbing and flowing through her veins. It was beautiful, but her eyes remained squeezed shut, and her head turned away from him.

His hand tenderly stroked down from her temple to her chin, with the golden light she looked as she did when he married her, "Sarah, love," he murmured, "I didn't mean it, Sarah," still she did not move, "please Sarah, come back." She dimly felt the madness leave his touch, the possessiveness, the wrath, leaving the two of them, with love and worry evident.

For a moment, it was surreal, and the air seemed thinner, the colors of the room too bright, the sheets too soft, and Jareth swayed for a moment, but Sarah's eyes opened, and he gave her a small smile.

She wanted him to kiss her again, and he knew, his head bowing low, his lips achingly tenders as they sucked the blood off her own, the magic having smoothed away the cracks and bruises.

Sarah loved Jareth.

And Jareth loved Sarah.

And that was how life was.

* * *

><p><strong>Omakes (Oh! P.s., the omakes are not related to each other)<strong>

Epilogue

_Less than a day later, Paella was sent off to her brother's southern estates, apparently engaged to a low match, a steward of a Duke._

_And a fortnight later, when Sarah awoke she was alone in her bed, as she had for a week._

_And when she walked to the Great Hall, she greeted her husband with a bright smile._

_He responded with a pointed nod, eyes searching the morning crowds, in a manner that looked uncaring, but did not hide the true search from her eyes._

_And Sarah sighed, her smile now gone and resigned, her head looking away in shame, as her husband looked at other women._

* * *

><p>She wanted him to kiss her again, and he knew, his head bowing low, and his lips achingly tenders as they sucked the blood off her own, the magic having smoothed away the cracks and bruises.<p>

She loved him and he loved no other, kissed no other. Felt his love when his fingers lovingly stroked her folds, as his lips leisurely dragged over her skin, in his very touch.

She forgave him, for the other women, for his madness, and she loved him. She accepted him in a way no other would, when his member tenderly slipped into her, when her lips fell open only to him, when she pushed away the teasing advances of his courtiers, and she did not hate him for the other women.

With an exulted shriek, she climaxed, knowing that it was _she_ he spent his nights with; it was only _she_ that he kissed, and that his whores could not hold him like he belonged to them, because he was her slave, and she was his.

* * *

><p>Sarah hated these functions.<p>

Sitting upon a large, raised, gilded seat with her husband, her face aching a little because she had to smile for hours.

Jareth's bare hands had not touched her for a week, but neither had he looked at others.

Sarah was confused, wondering what he held in his touch, love or madness.

But during the feast, Sarah's dress suddenly felt to tight, her body too warm, and she felt as if she were floating above her body, swaying gently, and everything felt distant.

Jareth's eyes flickered over to her as she rocked in her seat, her eyes distant and misty.

Her hand suddenly grasped his arm, and she whispered, "May I take my leave, my lord? I feel ill."

"Of course," he said, his voice calm, but concern leaked in.

She stood up, swaying slightly, and left the hall, some of the courtiers wondering why one of the guests of honor had left as they swept into lows bows.

Sarah walked into a room, apparently a study, and her head began to spin.

She threw up into a chamber pot, her throat retching painfully, and she sat in a heap on the floor.

A few minutes later, Jareth was beside her, his loving hands gently running down her arms, and then lifting her as she began to doze.

In that moment, Sarah heard his heartbeat strong against her ear, and was lulled into a comforting sleep with her beloved.

And no matter how much she tried, she couldn't remember why she hated him, with their hearts beating together, and his arms wrapped around her.

**Please rewiew!**


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